"It's not as scary as you think," Declan murmurs as we reach the entrance to the main sanctuary.
"That changes everything, thank you," I deadpan.
This time he does smile, and for a moment I see the man he might be if he weren't a Costello.
We pause at the threshold while Ciara skips down the aisle ahead of us, scattering rose petals with pure joy. Gianna follows, her blue dress matching the other bridesmaids, but I notice how her eyes scan the congregation. She's looking for something. Or someone.
One of Kieran's brothers—Finn, I think—watches Gianna's progress with obvious interest. When she reaches the altar and turns to face the entrance, their eyes meet across the church. Something passes between them, electric and immediate. Even in my terror, I notice how his expression softens when he looks at her.
Maybe not all of the Costello's are monsters. Only the one I'm marrying, apparently.
Then the wedding march begins, and Declan's grip tightens on my arm.
"This is it," he whispers.
We step into the sanctuary, and I see Kieran waiting at the altar in his perfectly tailored tux. His smile is predatory, victorious. Around us, the pews are filled with Irish guests, all watching my march toward damnation with polite interest.
Every step feels like walking through quicksand. The cathedral is enormous, but the aisle seems endless. Kieran's eyes never leave mine, and I can practically feel his satisfaction radiating across the space.
When we finally reach the altar, Declan places my hand in Kieran's with obvious reluctance. "Take care of her," he whispers, so low only we can hear.
Kieran's fingers close around mine like a trap. "Don't worry, brother. I will."
The priest begins the ceremony, his voice echoing in the vaulted space. I try to focus on his words, but they blur together into meaningless noise.
"Dearly beloved," the priest intones, "we are gathered here today..."
This isn't happening. This can't be happening. But Kieran's grip is real, the cold stone floor beneath my feet is real, the weight of the dress pulling at my shoulders is real.
The ceremony proceeds with agonizing slowness. Readings about love and commitment that feel like mockery in my current situation. Kieran responds to each part with perfect composure, playing the role of devoted groom while his fingers dig into my hand hard enough to bruise.
When the priest asks for the vows, Kieran speaks first.
"I, Kieran Costello, take you, Sofia Gallo, to be my wife. To have and to hold, to possess and to control, from this day forward."
The traditional words twisted into something dark and threatening. My vision starts to tunnel at the edges.
"Sofia?" the priest prompts.
Everyone waits. Kieran's grip tightens painfully, his nails biting into my skin. I open my mouth, but no sound comes out.
"Sofia," Kieran says quietly, his voice carrying a clear threat.
I force myself to look at him, to meet those cold gray eyes. "I?—"
The explosion of gunfire cuts through the cathedral like thunder.
Chaos erupts instantly. Guests scream and dive for cover as armed men pour through the main entrance. Kieran's men draw weapons, turning the sanctuary into a battlefield in seconds.
And then I see him.
Dante storms through the massive wooden doors like an avenging angel, gun raised, his face splattered with blood that isn't his own. His blue eyes scan the chaos until they find mine, and the relief in his expression is so intense it takes my breath away.
He came for me.
But before I can react, Kieran's arm snakes around my waist and he's dragging me backward, away from the altar. His other hand tangles in my carefully pinned hair, sending pins scattering and waves of pain through my scalp.
"This way, princess," he snarls in my ear, hauling me toward a side door. "Time for our honeymoon."
